


The Wedding Challenge

by suffolkgirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Humor, No Incest, Romance, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29082615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suffolkgirl/pseuds/suffolkgirl
Summary: Jaime Lannister is Westeros’ most successful wedding planner. Organising his brother’s wedding is the greatest challenge he’s ever faced...although acting on his true feelings for Westeros’ best caterer Brienne Tarth might be even harder…
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Tyrion Lannister/Tysha
Comments: 39
Kudos: 187





	The Wedding Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Since I discovered this fandom I have been wanting to write a J/B fic, but lacked inspiration...until I watched a silly film about a wedding planner over Xmas and decided I could definitely see Jaime as a wedding planner. As my first fic in this fandom please forgive any errors - I'm primarily a book fan although I have watched the show.

  
  
  
  
  


“No, Tyrion. Absolutely not.”

“Please, Jaime.” Tyrion angled what he probably thought was a beseeching smile.

“No. No, no, no.”

“Help me, Jaime. You’re my only hope.”

Jaime sent his brother a haughty stare. “I’m not the wedding planner you’re looking for.”

“Really. I thought you were the best in King’s Landing? Or so you keep telling me.”

“Feeble effort, Tyrion. Feeble.” Jaime seized on a sudden inspiration. “It’s a conflict of interest.”

“You’re a wedding planner, Jaime, not a bloody lawyer.”

“I can find you someone else-”

“You can’t. Because every other wedding planner in Westeros will take one look at the name Lannister and run screaming in the opposite direction.”

Unfortunately, Tyrion was right. It was one of his most irritating traits.

“Sounds very sensible,” said Jaime. “Why shouldn’t I do the same?”

“You have the inside advantage. Years of experience of our family’s particular brand of crazy.”

“You call that an advantage?” Tyrion tried the beseeching look again. “Can’t I stick to being best man?”

“Consider it part of your duties. What kind of best man would let his only brother plan his own wedding?”

“Can’t you elope?” Jaime tried a beseeching look of his own. “I’ll _pay_ you to elope.”

“Believe me, I wish I could.” Yearning flashed across Tyrion’s face. “But Tysha has always wanted a traditional wedding, with all her family round her-”

“So stick to her family, and leave ours out of it,” Jaime muttered.

“...and after all the snide remarks our dear relatives have made about her over the years, I don’t want our wedding to be some hole and corner affair that makes it look as if I’m ashamed of her. No, let it be a big, splashy...amazing event, and for that I need you.”

Tyrion pulled a ring binder out from under the coffee table. Jaime eyed it with suspicion.

“What’s that?”

“Tysha’s dream wedding ideas. She’s been compiling it since she was fourteen. It’s full of things that will not fit in with Father and Cersei’s Lannister-approved wedding at all.” Tyrion pushed the binder towards Jaime, his eyes sparkling with malicious amusement. “Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to deliver Tysha’s wedding despite all the interference they can throw at you.”

Jaime stilled, his eyes meeting his brother’s. “That certainly would be a challenge.” The last five weddings he’d organised had been almost smooth sailing. Happy couples, easy-going families, no logistical disasters...boring as hell.

“The greatest challenge you could ask for, brother.” The smugness in Tyrion’s smile was unbearable.

“Fuck you, Tyrion.”

“Think of Tysha.”

Jaime did. He was fond of his good-natured soon-to-be sister-in-law, and the chances of her getting the wedding day she wanted were absolutely zero unless someone stepped in. Someone with a plan. A meticulous plan with pre-emptive defences against all possible modes of attack, diversionary smokescreens, and a ruthless focus on the ultimate target...damn it. Tyrion was right. This would be the greatest challenge of his career so far.

“All right. I’ll do it.” He scowled at his brother, and received a winning smile in return.

“Tell you what, Jaime. When you get married, I’ll plan your wedding.”

“No, you fucking won’t.”

\---

Brienne was having a lazy morning. It was already 8am, but she’d only just started checking her emails and running through her to-do list for the day. She’d catered a charity gala for six hundred people last night, so she’d felt she deserved to slack off a little.

Her phone rang, and she picked up with her eyes still on the computer screen. “Evenstar Catering.”

“The lady herself. I was expecting a voicemail. I forgot what disgustingly early hours you keep.”

Brienne rolled her eyes with comfortable irritation. “As if you stick to 9-5 working hours.” Every wedding she’d worked with Jaime, he’d been both the first and the last person on site, as well as being on call to his clients 24/7. Sometimes she wondered if he slept at all on wedding weekends. “What do you want, Jaime?”

“Are you free this morning? I want to discuss a potential booking with you.”

“Potential?” Brienne frowned with surprise at this unusually hesitant approach. Normally Jaime took it for granted that she would cater any wedding he wanted, and although she had taken him to task for this presumption many times, it never had any effect. Maybe she was finally wearing him down. “ _Discuss_?”

“On top form this morning, I see. Maybe I should bring coffee with me. I prefer being able to talk to you in words of more than one syllable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jaime. I can fit you in at 9, but only if you’re on time.”

“Of course. You know I run a tight schedule.” He laughed and hung up.

Brienne stared into space for a moment, frowning. His deflection of her question was par for the course, but there had been something off in the way he did it, his jokes sounding almost hollow. She was worried, which was not an emotion she’d ever expected to feel where Jaime Lannister was concerned.

\---

Brienne had first met Jaime when he was organising the Stark-Westerling wedding. Their caterer had dropped out at the last minute and Catelyn Stark had recommended her as a replacement. Every hackle on Brienne’s body had risen when Jaime had waltzed into her kitchen, all sharp-suited golden charm, and patronisingly told her what an exciting opportunity this was for her. When he handed her the planned menus, she had thrown them down on the counter.

“I’m not available.”

“Oh, for the price I’m offering I think you’ll make yourself available. My clients are happy to pay a hefty extra fee for the short notice. Looking at the state of this place, I think you need it.” Jaime had thrown a dismissive glance around her shabby kitchen and its worn equipment.

Brienne had been a hairsbreadth away from throwing him bodily out of the door, but unfortunately he was right. Then he had quoted a figure which made her eyes widen, and would mean she could finally replace her temperamental oven. So Brienne had said yes, and grimly hoped that she could make it through the wedding day without punching that smug smile off his face.

As it turned out, the greatest challenge to her temper hadn’t been Jaime, but the bride’s mother. Sybell Westerling glided into the kitchen at the reception venue and proceeded to find fault with every course Brienne had planned. She then instructed her on how it should be altered, condescension dripping from every syllable. Every attempt Brienne made to gently but firmly explain why Sybell’s food combinations would not work fell on deaf ears.

Brienne prided herself on maintaining a professional demeanour with her clients at all times, but Sybell Westerling was proving the exception to that rule. She was on the point of telling Sybell that _she_ was the trained chef, thank you very much; that it was far too late to change the menu now; and that only a philistine with no taste buds would eat Sybell’s suggestions anyway, when Jaime entered the kitchen.

Brienne wasn’t sure what her face looked like, but Jaime’s immediately shifted into what she now knew was his Damage Control mode. He cranked his Charmometer up to 100, and when Sybell had given him the full benefit of her ideas, he smiled so brightly that Brienne was almost blinded, and said: “I respect your taste, of course, Sybell, but the menu Chef Tarth has chosen is based on the one Princess Arianne of Dorne had at her wedding.”

“It is?”

“It is. I thought you would love the idea, as you’ve told me how so many people say that your Jeyne should be a princess, but if you think it’s the wrong choice-”

“Not at all,” said Sybell. “If the princess chose it...I am sure it will be wonderful.”

After a few more minutes of gushing from her, and reassurance from Jaime, he managed to hustle her out of the kitchen.

Brienne stared at him with outrage. “ _The Princess of Dorne_?”

Jaime shrugged. “I had to go high. Sybell thinks she’s too sophisticated to be impressed by anything less than royalty.”

“What...you...what did they even serve at the princess’ wedding reception?”

“I have no idea, but I can assure you that Sybell doesn’t either.” His smirk gave way to a hint of irritation. “A thank you wouldn’t go amiss.”

“For what?”

“Getting her off your back.”

“I was dealing with her perfectly well myself.”

“I could tell.” The look on his face made her right hand clench into a fist. “But there’s no use trying to reason with people like Sybell. You have to work out what matters to them, and then use it. Sybell cares far more about snobbery than good food.” He looked down at the small bowl of soup Brienne had provided for Sybell to taste. “That smells amazing.”

Brienne refused to be distracted by empty compliments. “I don’t lie to people,” she said stiffly.

“Really? How very noble of you. I can tell you haven’t been in this business long.” 

While Brienne searched for a suitably withering reply, Jaime picked up a spoon and tried the soup. He looked up at her with wide eyes, all mockery suddenly falling away.

“This is good.” He tried another spoonful. “This is _very_ good.” There was genuine respect in his eyes, and Brienne couldn’t help feeling gratified. “I should have known when Catelyn Stark recommended you. Seven knows she’s hard to impress.”

After that, Jaime popped in and out of the kitchen all evening, sampling any left-over food he found with a sly grin, despite Brienne’s protests. As she was packing up, he sat down and abruptly told her she was the best chef he’d ever hired, and that he would book her for any of his weddings she was available to do.

It had been hard to say no to that. Evenstar Catering had only been running a few months, since Brienne had become tired of doing all the work and getting none of the credit as Renly Baratheon’s sous-chef, so Brienne’s calendar had been largely empty.

It certainly wasn’t now. Brienne had been amazed at how many guests at Jaime’s weddings had asked for her business card, and then booked her for birthday parties and wedding anniversaries and company functions. It was getting to the point that she might have to think about taking on more permanent staff than her loyal assistant Podrick.

At first she had been annoyed that she had Jaime to thank for all this, but somewhere in the last year her attitude to him had softened. It was hard to resist someone who was so genuinely impressed by her skills, and insisted that she deserved to be successful. He was still arrogant and entirely too prone to tiresome jokes, but she could look past that now. 

\---

Jaime appeared in her kitchen at precisely nine o’clock. As ever, Brienne’s breath caught at the sight of him in one of his sharply-creased suits. It was a pale grey today. Brienne thanked the gods silently that it wasn’t the dark green suit he’d worn to the last Frey wedding. That particular suit had been almost too much for her composure.

She had come to realise that Jaime’s suits were as much a work uniform as her own chef’s whites. Sometimes she wondered what he would look like in casual clothes, and then quickly dismissed the thought. Insanely hot, was the most likely answer. It was incredibly unfair that any man should be so beautiful. Still, if Jaime ever noticed her reaction to him, he gave no sign of it. He was probably so used to that kind of response that it didn’t even register.

He had brought coffee, as promised. Brienne stared suspiciously at the cup he held out to her.

“What’s in it? I swear, if you ordered one of those awful syrups again-”

“Stand down, soldier!” Jaime laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “It’s plain white coffee, I promise. Boring as hell, just as you like it.”

His own coffee, when he removed the lid, definitely had syrup in it. Brienne pulled a disgusted face. “How can you even taste the coffee? And do you know how many calories-”

“You’ve told me. Many times.”

“As if you listen to anything I say.”

“Oh, I do listen, Brienne.” His green eyes crinkled at the corners. “I just choose not to act on it.”

“Drink your coffee and try to be quiet for ten seconds.”

Brienne studied him as she drank, and got the same odd feeling she had on the phone. There had been something almost mechanical about his teasing, and his smile hadn’t quite reached his eyes.

“So you want to book me for a wedding,” she said, once the first jolt of caffeine had kick-started her brain. “I must say it’s nice to be consulted for once.”

“You mean you don’t trust my judgement? I’m wounded, Brienne.” 

It was a pale imitation of his usual style, and Brienne fixed him with a serious stare. “Tell me.”

“It’s my brother’s wedding.”

Brienne waited for more, but it appeared that was it. Her unease grew. Jaime was many things, but no-one would ever accuse him of being a man of few words.

“Why would I not want to cater your brother’s wedding?”

Jaime sent her one of his sharp defensive smiles. “Surely you’ve heard what people say about our family.”

“So you _are_ one of those Lannisters. The Casterly Rock Lannisters.” Brienne had wondered, but his family was one of the few subjects on which Jaime was uncharacteristically tight-lipped. She could have found out online, of course, but it felt underhand to break his privacy like that.

Jaime took another sip of his coffee, hiding behind the cup. “Tywin Lannister is my father.”

That did surprise Brienne. Tywin Lannister was _the_ Lannister, the CEO of the Lannister corporation and one of the chief political figures in the Westerlands.

“You’re Tywin Lannister’s son?” Jaime nodded, still obscured by the cup. “Then what the seven hells are you doing working as a wedding planner?”

At that the cup came down. Jaime stared at her angrily. “What is wrong with me being a wedding planner?”

Brienne was surprised to catch a note of genuine hurt in his voice. “Nothing. You’re very good at it.”

To her relief, that produced a familiar smirk. “Am I? Am I the best wedding planner you’ve ever worked with?”

“Stop trying to get me to stroke your ego,” she said impatiently. “I was only surprised that you don’t work for the family business.”

“I used to.” The smirk disappeared. Jaime stared past her, and Brienne suddenly felt that he was very far away. “It wasn’t...good for me.”

“Your brother’s wedding,” prompted Brienne, feeling oddly desperate to call him back to her, to banish that unsettling remote look in his eyes. “What’s the difficulty?”

Jaime blinked, taking a moment to answer. “The Lannisters have a reputation for being-”

“Difficult? Demanding?”

“I was going to say absolute fucking nightmares.”

“They can’t be that bad.” 

“Can’t they? Let me give you a taste.” Jaime opened his briefcase and pulled out four plastic folders. He pushed them across the counter to Brienne.

“What are these? Menus?” Brienne glanced over them, frowning. “Four different menus?”

“Exactly. The red menu is to present to my father-”

Brienne’s nose wrinkled as she read it. “Chicken in white wine? Jaime…”

“Oh, Father doesn’t care about food. He wants to see something simple and recognisable so he knows he’s getting his money’s worth. The green menu is to show my sister-”

“ _Chicken Kiev_?” Brienne was outraged. Again, Jaime waved it away.

“Cersei hates Tyrion, so the tackier the menu is, the more pleased she will be. She’ll probably suggest arctic roll for dessert. The yellow menu is for Aunt Genna. I can’t remember what I put down for her. It doesn’t really matter, she just likes to be involved. And the blue menu is the real menu.”

“The real menu?” Brienne’s head was whirling. “Jaime, why have you made three fake menus?”

“Because the only way to stop my family imposing their choices on every aspect of this wedding is to throw them off the scent.”

“But three fake menus? Isn’t that a little overkill?”

“Not with my family. Believe me.” The frantic edge to Jaime’s voice made Brienne decide not to press the point. Instead she picked up the blue menu, curious to see what Jaime had chosen.

The blue menu combined her personal favourite dishes from the last few weddings she had catered. She looked up at Jaime, unable to repress a broad smile.

“Excellent choices. How did you know?”

“They’re my favourites too.” He smiled back. His green eyes were unusually soft, and Brienne found herself drifting into them for a long minute before she tugged herself back to reality.

“I can’t say no to this wedding if it means I get to cook all my favourite dishes.”

“Great,” said Jaime. He was blinking as if he had just woken up. “I’ll bring Tyrion and Tysha in for a tasting session, of course, but I think they’ll go with my selection.” He paused. “Brienne...are you sure you want to do this? My family can be...I do my best to avoid dealing with them myself.”

Brienne stared at him, a frown forming. “Jaime...are _you_ sure you want to do this?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “But it was hard to turn Tyrion down. He’s my little brother. Childhood habits.” He looked embarrassed, as if being fond of his brother was something to be ashamed of.

“Then you’ll need backup. And I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn’t back you up when you needed it.”

She expected Jaime to smile and make a joke, but instead he stared at her with an expression that made her shift uncomfortably on her chair. 

“Are we friends?” 

“Yes. Well, I think we are.” She felt awkward. “I didn’t mean to presume-”

“No! We’re friends. Of course we’re friends.” Brienne saw with relief that Jaime’s familiar smirk was back in full force. “I knew I'd wear you down eventually.”

“Well, you _are_ very wearing,” she shot back, and everything was normal again.

\---

Brienne soon discovered that Jaime hadn’t been exaggerating about his family.

The first visitor was his father, whose bodyguard insisted on inspecting her kitchen and office before Tywin Lannister set a foot inside the building. He tried to inspect her living area upstairs as well, but Brienne drew the line at that. She told him to inform Mr Lannister that if he felt she was so untrustworthy perhaps it was better if they had a video meeting.

She half expected him to drive off in a huff, but Tywin duly entered her office. Brienne had never met anyone who could make the words ‘Good morning’ sound so intimidating. Her offer of coffee was met with a look of disdain, as if only lesser mortals needed caffeinated refreshment. Brienne braced herself with a stern reminder that she was an experienced professional who had no need of Tywin Lannister’s approval.

As Jaime had predicted, Tywin was not really interested in her food. He gave the menu a cursory glance, and turned down the offer to taste a sample. Instead Brienne was subjected to a barrage of searching questions about her supply chain, her finances and her previous clients, which she answered as far as she felt comfortable with. Tywin didn’t express any annoyance when she refused to answer, simply moving on to the next question.

“Well, Miss Tarth,” he said finally, “you appear to run a tight ship here. Thank you for your time.”

Brienne blinked. Had that been...a compliment? Tywin got to his feet, and was walking out the door before Brienne got over her surprise. She watched his sleek black car drive away, and considered how it would feel to grow up constantly subjected to that cool intimidation and emotionless practicality. It would certainly explain a lot about Jaime.

\---

Jaime’s sister Cersei _was_ interested in the food. Her email to arrange the appointment made it clear that she wanted to taste everything on the menu she’d been sent...except the dessert, as she thought arctic roll would be preferable.

Brienne was forced to produce a sample menu of prawn cocktail, Chicken Kiev with croquette potatoes and arctic roll. _You owe me big time, Jaime Lannister_ , she thought grimly. _Big time_.

Tywin hadn’t looked much like Jaime at all, apart from the green eyes, so Brienne was surprised by the woman who knocked on her door at the appointed time. Golden hair, flawless facial lines, professionally charming smile, and those green eyes again...the resemblance was so striking that Brienne would have suspected Jaime had dressed up to fool her if the woman hadn’t been nearly a foot shorter than she was.

She must have stared too long, because the professionally charming smile disappeared. “What is it? Have I got something on my face?”

“No, it’s just...you look a lot like Jaime.”

That earned her a scathing glare. “Twins who look alike. Hold the front page.” It was dripping with disdain, and Brienne found herself flushing. “I hope your cooking is better than your conversation.”

There was a difference, she thought, as Cersei swept past her. Jaime would have laughed.

It set the tone for the rest of the meeting. Cersei found fault with every dish, and was full of patronising and ridiculous suggestions about how they could be ‘improved’. She didn’t just want the meal to be tacky, she wanted it to be inedible. Brienne was digging her nails into her palms after five minutes, grinding her teeth after ten, and at fifteen minutes she broke and told Cersei they would have to cut it short as she had an unexpected appointment. 

“More important than this one? I don’t think so,” said Cersei, with all the self-assurance old money could buy.

“It’s the Princess of Dorne,” said Brienne in desperation.

It startled Cersei so much that Brienne was able to hustle her out and lock the door behind her. She felt as if she needed to go and lie down in a darkened room. Cersei’s spite was exhausting. She was like an elegant, poisonous leech.

And that was Jaime’s twin? She was amazed he hadn’t been reduced to a withered husk years ago. 

\---

After Tywin and Cersei, it was a relief to meet Aunt Genna, who leavened her brother’s business sense with an underlying warmth, and gossiped with none of her niece’s spite. She was also the only one of the three to actually talk about Tyrion and Tysha.

“I knew she was the one for Tyrion as soon as I met her.”

“Because of the way he looked at her?” After nearly a year of wedding catering, Brienne was familiar with all the stock lines.

Genna laughed loudly. “No, because she’s the only girl he’s ever brought to meet me. I knew it must be serious if he was prepared to risk bringing her anywhere near the family. We have sharp claws for outsiders.” 

“I’ll bear that in mind,” said Brienne drily, and Genna’s laugh rang out again.

“Oh, you’ve nothing to fear from me, my dear. I would never scratch anyone who can make such a feather light chocolate mousse. Besides, you’re a friend of Jaime’s, aren’t you?”

Something flickered in Genna’s sharp eyes that made heat rise in Brienne’s cheeks, much to her annoyance.

“In a way. We work together.”

She expected a sly comment, but Genna seemed to take pity on her. “I’m glad this wedding business is working out for Jaime, as the marketing consultancy did for Tyrion...or whatever company he’s running these days, I lose track. Both boys are better out of my brother’s shadow. Cersei would be too, but she's refusing to open her eyes the way the boys did.”

“I always wondered how Jaime got into wedding planning,” said Brienne. She had. It was hardly an obvious career choice.

“When Jaime worked in the company, he started off in corporate events...I think Cersei suggested it to get him out of her way...so that certainly gave him plenty of experience in organising large events and dealing with difficult clients. I think the first wedding he did was his friend Addam’s. He was suddenly posted overseas and the whole thing had to be organised in a week, so Jaime stepped in. He’ll do anything to help out his friends.”

That was true. Brienne remembered the time her car had broken down. Jaime had phoned while she was waiting for the breakdown vehicle and when it was towed away to the garage, he had not only insisted on giving her a lift home but had driven her to all her appointments for the next two days until it was repaired, saying he had a slow week and wasn’t going to let her waste her money on taxis. It made her smile wistfully to think about it, even now. 

\---

The following evening, Brienne finally got to meet the bride and groom. After a week of Lannisters, she answered the door with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, to find Jaime leaning against the doorpost with a lazy smile.

“Where are Tyrion and Tysha?”

“Parking the car. I thought I’d tag along. Didn’t want to miss the opportunity to sample your cooking.”

Brienne glared at him. “You’ve passed it up easily enough the rest of this week.”

Jaime tried to look apologetic, but it was less than convincing. “Was it bad?”

“It was...informative,” said Brienne, and smiled inwardly as anxiety immediately spread across Jaime’s face. Let him stew over what they might have said to her. “Your sister was the worst.”

“She usually is.” Jaime looked as if he was about to say more, but was interrupted by Tyrion and Tysha’s arrival. 

Tysha had an easy smile and a reassuring air; Brienne thought she was the kind of person you would stop on a street to ask for directions. Tyrion...well, she could tell he was a Lannister. He had the golden hair, the arrogant smile, and the mocking glint in his mismatched black and green eyes.

He was also a little person.

Brienne wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed that Jaime hadn’t forewarned her, or touched that he didn’t see it as something she needed to be forewarned about.

“So you’re Brienne Tarth,” said Tyrion, with a wide smile. “Jaime’s told me so much about you.”

“Tyrion.” Jaime’s tone was both warning and resigned.

“I must say,” Tyrion’s eyes swept over her, “you certainly live up to your reputation.” He looked from her to his brother. “She _is_ taller than you.”

“Tyrion!” Tysha tapped his shoulder reprovingly. “Behave.”

“Don’t mind me, Brienne.” Tyrion’s eyes laughed up at her, but it was a friendly laugh, and Brienne felt her shoulders relax a little. “I’m merely living down to _my_ reputation.”

There was a flash of fellowship in his face, and Brienne found herself smiling back. She admired the tactic of making height jokes before anyone else could, although she had never been able to employ it herself.

“I warn you, I’m expecting great things,” Tyrion said, when they were all seated at Brienne’s kitchen table. “Having listened to Jaime rave about you-”

“She’s the best chef in the city,” said Jaime. He looked a little flushed. Brienne wondered if she’d forgotten to turn the oven off and looked across the room to check. She hadn’t.

“I’ve prepared two different starters, main courses and desserts for you to try,” she said, lifting off the covers. Much as she liked Jaime’s choices, she felt honour-bound to offer them alternatives. “You can pick the three you like the most; any combination will work together, I think.”

“It all looks amazing,” said Tysha. Brienne put the two starters in front of her and Tyrion with a shaky breath. Couples trying her food for the first time always made her nervous. She looked away, not wanting to see their expressions, and caught Jaime’s eye instead. He smiled encouragingly, if with a touch of mockery. He was always telling her she needed to have more faith in herself.

Tyrion and Tysha were ominously quiet. Brienne screwed up the courage to look at them and was surprised to see that both small plates were empty.

“That was...exquisite,” said Tysha, smiling at Brienne. “How cruel to make me choose between them.”

“I wronged you, Jaime,” said Tyrion, putting down his fork. “Raving is exactly the correct response to this food.”

Brienne could feel herself going bright red, and hurriedly uncovered the main course dishes. The couple worked their way through those and the desserts with so many compliments that Brienne was lost for words. 

“You’re very kind,” she said finally, as they discussed their choices.

Jaime laughed. “No, they’re just being honest. Tyrion is never kind.”

“Not when it can be traced back to me, anyway,” muttered Tyrion.

Tysha rolled her eyes. “Can’t you two stop the Lannister posing for one evening? Yes, you’re both heartless rich bastards and proud of it, I know the script…”

“Stop posing? Be sincere?” Tyrion stared at her with mock horror. 

“You can do it. I’ve seen you be sincere at least once,” said Tysha, her voice suddenly warm.

Tyrion smiled at her, his whole face softening. “You bring out sides of me I never knew were there.”

Brienne looked away, feeling suddenly as if she were intruding, and caught Jaime’s eyes again.

“They’re like this all the time. Sickening, isn’t it?”

“If you find people in love sickening, you’re in the wrong business,” murmured Tysha.

“Nice shot, Tysha. We’ll make a Lannister of you yet.”

“Is that a good thing?” Brienne couldn’t resist asking. 

Jaime sent her a wounded look. “I’m being attacked on all sides.”

“After putting me through four appointments with your family this week, you deserve it.”

“ _Four_? Jaime, who did you set on her?”

“Father, Cersei and Aunt Genna.”

Tysha’s eyes went wide, and Tyrion whistled. He turned to Brienne. “I hope you’re going to make him buy you dinner in payment for that. And drinks. Many, many drinks.”

“How was it?” asked Tysha.

“Genna was fine, but I don’t think Mr Lannister and Cersei were impressed.”

Tysha smiled wryly. “They’re never impressed with anything. Certainly not anything to do with our wedding. They detest me.”

“Why?” Brienne couldn’t imagine what anyone could find to dislike in Tysha.

“Not the right background,” said Tysha, shaking her head sorrowfully. “My father is a plumber, and I went to a-” she lowered her voice to a hushed whisper “-state school.”

Brienne stared at the brothers. “Are your family really that snobbish?”

Jamie smiled ruefully. “Remember Sybell Westerling? Compared to the Lannisters, she’s a model of social inclusion.”

“If I had a high-powered job, they might overlook it,” said Tysha. “Money wipes out many faults where Tywin Lannister is concerned.”

“What do you do?” asked Brienne, intrigued.

“I’m a legal knowledge executive.”

Brienne waited for her to expand, but she didn’t. “That sounds very interesting.” She sighed, and gave up. “What does it mean?”

“It means I find information that lawyers aren’t capable of finding themselves and package it up nicely to make their lives easier. It’s given me a lot of experience dealing with entitled rich boys, which has come in handy,” Tysha finished, with a sly look at the brothers. 

“She’s a law librarian,” explained Tyrion.

“Don’t break my cover! I can’t call myself a librarian, it’s not imposing enough.”

“More imposing than being a wedding planner,” said Jaime, with a smirk.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “You’re still basking in how much that pissed Father off, aren’t you?”

“I’m never going to stop basking in it. It made all those years as his company drone worthwhile.”

“So, wedding planner, how are the wedding plans going?” asked Tysha. “A big fat tick from me on the catering by the way,” she added, with a wink at Brienne.

“I got Father to agree to the ceremony taking place at the sept in your home village instead of Casterly Rock.”

“Really?” Tyrion looked sceptical. “How did you manage that?”

“Aunt Genna told me that Father’s latest takeover deal involves two companies based not far from where Tysha grew up. So I mentioned that if the wedding took place there, it would show a family connection to the area, and be good publicity for the takeover…”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. “Smart move, Jaime. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Brienne didn’t like the condescending edge to his voice.

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” she found herself saying. “Jaime is very good at his job. He handles difficult families every day, and he always gets what the clients want.”

Both brothers stared at her. Tyrion with surprise and a hint of amusement, and Jaime...Jaime looked stunned. Almost as if no-one had ever defended him before.

“I should employ you to do my advertising,” he said finally, lifting his glass in a mock salute. 

It was smoothly done, but Brienne could tell he was ruffled. She didn’t understand how a simple compliment could knock him off balance so easily. He definitely wasn’t lacking in ego.

“It’s not exactly difficult for you,” she said, with an edge of irritation. “All you have to do is crank up your Charmometer, and you have them eating out of your hand.”

“His _Charmometer_?” Tyrion spluttered with laughter, almost choking on his drink. 

Brienne blushed. “That sounded silly. I only meant-”

“I know what you meant. It’s a very accurate description.” Tyrion looked from her to his brother with an expression that she didn’t understand, but made Jaime look uncomfortable.

“If we could get back to business,” he said, with a glare at his brother, “there has been one hiccup.”

“I knew there would be a catch,” sighed Tyrion. “What hiccup?”

“Cersei walked in on our conversation, and Father told her about the change of location for the ceremony. The next day she sent me an email to say she had booked the perfect place for the reception.”

“Where?”

“The local Westeros Inn.” 

Brienne winced. The Westeros Inn chain...well, there was nothing wrong with it, exactly. The rooms were comfortable, and the facilities impeccable. But it was a bland, soulless corporate hotel chain. Not anyone’s idea of a dream wedding venue.

Tyrion groaned. “I suppose she copied Father into this email.”

“Of course, and he jumped at the idea. He knows exactly what he’s getting for his money with a Westeros Inn, because they’re all the same. Acceptable decor at comparatively little expense.”

“I am _not_ ,” said Tysha firmly, “having my wedding reception at a Westeros Inn.”

“You won’t be,” Jaime assured her airily.

“But if your father’s agreed and paid the deposit…”

“The Inn have double-booked us,” said Jaime. “Didn’t I mention that? Well, I couldn’t, because I haven’t discovered it yet. I won’t discover it until the day before the wedding, when everyone is already on their way.”

Tyrion burst into laughter. “Jaime, Jaime. It’s delicious. I knew there was a reason you’re my favourite brother.”

“So I’ll have to find another reception venue at the last minute, and it will turn out that Tysha’s aunt has just the place on her farm…”

Tysha sprang to her feet. “Jaime, you’re a genius!” She wrapped him in a hug. “I couldn’t see my way to holding it there without a huge battle, and now...thank you!”

She kissed his cheek. Brienne was amused to see that Jaime could blush as red as she could, when pushed to it.

It was late when they finally left, and Brienne found to her surprise that she was sorry to see them go. It had felt more like a social evening than a business meeting. As if they were friends.

Jaime _had_ said they were friends.

He lingered on the doorstep for a moment, his eyes dancing. “My _Charmometer_? Really?”

“Shut up.”

“So you _have_ noticed I’m charming. I’d wondered, since you seem to be immune to it.”

Brienne wasn’t immune to it. She’d succumbed to it long ago, probably when he’d first tasted her food, and looked at her with respect in his eyes. Or the evening he’d spent running through every food pun he could think of until he finally got her to laugh. 

Mostly, she could deal with his charm. She could enjoy his company without wanting any more, because she had learnt to accept the limitations the world placed on her, and the futility of expecting more than that. But sometimes…

Sometimes, there were moments, like this moment, when she looked at his warm smile and his dancing green eyes, at the sheer aching beauty of his face, and wanted more. Wanted to see what would happen if she reached out and touched that golden skin, if she pressed her mouth to his.

Those moments were getting increasingly hard to resist, but Brienne knew better than to act on them. The Jaimes of this world were not for her.

“Goodnight, Jaime,” she said firmly, and closed the door.

\---

Jaime wasn’t supposed to be in King’s Landing. He was supposed to be driving to the Riverlands to resolve some supplier issues for the reception, but that morning he’d looked at the weather forecast of torrential rain and decided to resolve the issues by phone instead. He wondered later if his decision had really been to do with the weather, or if it had been a latent twin instinct, triggered by the knowledge that it was the day Tysha was wedding dress shopping.

When he got a call from Tysha’s sister saying she needed help, he knew in his bones what the problem was before she even mentioned Cersei’s name.

“She was waiting at the shop when we got here, and Tysha didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“How hateful is she being?”

“Absolutely poisonous. It's awful. Tysha can tell her to leave, but your sister won’t take it quietly and an argument will ruin the whole day. You said you could help with any problems with the wedding, so I thought-”

“Of course. It’s fine,” said Jaime, inwardly damning Cersei to the seven hells. “I’ll deal with her. Give me twenty minutes.”

When he arrived, one look at Tysha’s pale face told him that her sister had been right to call. He ground his teeth, and caught the shop assistant’s eye. She was quick on the uptake, and between them they ushered Tysha and her sister into the changing rooms, leaving Jaime alone with his twin.

Jaime jerked his head towards the door. “Shall we do this outside?” 

_Unless you want Tysha and her sister to overhear every word_.

Cersei shrugged, but followed him out. They walked out of sight of the shop, stopping in a small grassy area set back from the street in front of the war memorial.

“What the hells did you think you were doing, Cersei?”

“Amusing myself.”

“On an easy target like Tysha? At least find a worthy opponent.”

“If she wants to join our family, she has to deal with the consequences.” 

“Bullying and humiliation?” Jaime looked at her with disgust. “I would ask what the poor girl has ever done to you, but I know the answer. Nothing, except fall in love with our brother.”

Cersei glared at him, mouth set in a tight line.

“Seven hells, Cersei, can’t you leave them alone? Gods know Tyrion’s had a tough life, can’t you let him be happy-”

“He killed our mother!” 

It exploded out of her in a geyser of hatred. Jaime flinched, but held himself steady. He’d backed away from this too many times.

“No, he didn’t. We’ll never know what killed her. Bad luck, bad timing, fate, the gods...it doesn’t matter!” He realised his voice had risen to match hers. “She’s still just as dead.”

Cersei’s hand flew up, swift as a coiled snake, but Jaime had known it was coming, and caught it before she connected with his face.

They stared at each other for a long moment, locked in silent battle.

A car horn broke through the air, pressed at full blast. They both gasped, as if surfacing for air. Jaime released her hand, and Cersei dropped her arm. She stepped back, turning to look at the memorial. 

Jaime watched her, trying to calm his breathing. He wondered, sometimes, if it had been necessary to put the distance he had between himself and his twin. If he had been over-reacting. It was good to be reminded that he hadn’t.

“I suppose I never thought…” Cersei’s voice startled him. Her back was still turned. “I never thought Tyrion would be the first one to marry.”

Jaime stared at her taut back. “You always said you never wanted to get married. That it was too risky…”

“To allow someone that much power over me. I know.” Cersei was tracing a name on the memorial with one fingertip. “I still think that. But sometimes I wonder what it would be like. To trust someone that much.”

After their mother died, after their father withdrew from them, they had only trusted each other. No wonder neither of them had married; until four years ago, they had been too enmeshed to have space for anyone else. Jaime had lost count of the number of potential relationships that had been wrecked by the realisation that he would always put Cersei first. Until their exclusive trust broke under the strain. 

Jaime wondered who Cersei trusted now, instead of him. Maybe no-one. It made his heart ache a little, even after everything.

He didn’t claim to be a beacon of emotional health, but at least he had managed to extend that circle of trust. He had Tyrion. Addam. Tysha, now. And…

And Brienne. He trusted Brienne.

The feeling, and the complete certainty behind it, startled him. He and Brienne were colleagues. He’d never spent any time with her outside a work setting. And yet...yet he felt he knew her, in all the ways that counted. He trusted her. He felt warmth kindling inside him as he pictured her calm face, those steady blue eyes.

Cersei sighed, recalling him to the present. She looked almost wistful, which was an emotion he didn’t associate with his sister at all.

“Gods, I need a drink,” she said. “Do you want to join me?”

Jaime hesitated. For a moment, he nearly said yes. One drink. What harm could it do? And he still missed her, that nagging ache that never quite went away. They had been all each other had for so long…

Then he caught the flicker of calculation in Cersei’s eyes, and he remembered a wedding reception in the Stormlands. Late at night, eating leftovers Brienne had kept for him while she packed up. His phone had rung; the bride from the following week’s wedding, stressing about how to tell her mother-in-law that she didn’t want her to sing during the ceremony.

“I don’t know how you put up with that,” Brienne had said, when he hung up. “All those calls, all those demands on your time. It would drive me mad.”

He had smiled at her, made some joke, but inside he had wanted to laugh until he cried. _I trained for it_ , he wanted to tell her. _I spent my whole life at my sister’s beck and call, keeping her happy, soothing her worries, answering her whims. My clients are easy in comparison. And I can walk away any time I want._

He’d found the strength to walk away from Cersei, in the end, but part of him was always afraid that he might slip back.

“I can’t,” he said. “I have a meeting with the caterer.” Their eyes met. Jaime could see Cersei wasn’t fooled, but she didn’t comment. “A wedding planner’s work is never done.”

“Father still thinks you’ll come back,” she said, as they stepped back out onto the busy street. “To the company.”

“I won’t.”

“Do you promise?” 

Jaime glanced at his sister’s face, back in her smooth mask. “I thought he had named you his successor.”

“He has. But if you even hinted you wanted to come back, I’d be out the door.” Her lips twisted, a flash of real pain in her eyes.

“I promise.” He could give her this much. “I won’t come back. I’ll even tell him so, if you like.”

Cersei laughed bitterly. “He wouldn’t hear you even if you did.”

True enough. Their father, so shrewd in every other aspect of his life, had never been able to see any of his children clearly.

Jaime said goodbye, and walked to his car. He didn’t look back.

He went to see Brienne anyway. He pretended to have some query about a meal for a food allergy sufferer that they both knew he could have asked over the phone, but Brienne didn’t challenge him. She made him a cup of tea, and Jaime sat in her kitchen while she made bread. Watched every movement of her arms, every flex of muscle as she kneaded the dough. Soothed himself with the calm of her unhurried, repetitive movements. Felt the spark of warmth that had kindled earlier grow stronger, spread along every nerve in his body until he felt as if he was glowing.

He trusted Brienne. Did he trust her enough to take a risk? 

Jaime thought maybe he did.

\--- 

Jaime was satisfied with the setting of the wedding ceremony even if no-one else was. The village sept was small, and he could hear half of his relatives grumbling about being packed in like sardines. The other half were snidely pointing out how dull and plain the whitewashed walls with their simple murals were compared to the stained glass and gilded statues in the Casterly Rock sept. Jaime liked the simplicity, and he thought the red and white roses winding up the pillars and around the altar complemented it beautifully. Margaery, the florist, had outdone herself, and had even thrown in the buttonholes for the wedding party for free because she had so much fun duping Cersei about the flowers. Tysha had insisted on having the ceremony at twilight, so the sept was dotted with candles, and the dim light created an other-worldly almost fairy tale feel...or it would if only his damn family would shut up. In the end Jaime paid the organist to start playing early to drown them out.

The look on Tyrion’s face when he saw Tysha arrive put a lump in Jaime’s throat.

“I think you’ve actually forgotten to be cynical for once,” he murmured in his brother’s ear.

Tyrion didn’t take his eyes off Tysha as he replied. “You sound rather husky, Jaime. Remember you owe me fifty dragons if you start crying during the ceremony.”

Jaime lost that bet. He could feel tears in his eyes when they started saying the vows. _I am his, and he is mine_. When they were children, it had often felt as if he was the only person in the world who valued Tyrion, who could see past his height to his sharp brain and wicked humour and unexpected kindness. Tyrion hadn’t been that lonely little boy for a long time. The large group of friends and colleagues who were crowded into the sept to watch him get married showed that. Still, it meant a lot to Jaime that Tyrion had Tysha now, someone who loved and valued him as much as Jamie did.

He could never say any of this to Tyrion, of course. His brother didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body; he would roll his eyes and tell Jaime he was being ridiculous. Instead Jaime wiped his eyes, handed over the fifty dragons while the photographs were being taken outside the sept, and counted it a bet well lost.

Jaime felt wistful as he wrangled guests into the right photos, separating warring aunts and quarrelling cousins, wondering if he would ever have what Tyrion had. He’d tried to meet someone after he distanced himself from Cersei, but even without her as an obstacle, nothing had ever lasted beyond a few dates. He’d never met anyone who held his attention…

Well. Until Brienne. Brienne, with her irritating perfectionism and her endearing principles. Brienne, who could make him laugh harder than anyone else ever had. Brienne, with her endless legs and toned arms that made his mouth go dry every time he watched her pick up a folding table. Brienne, whose blue eyes always betrayed the kindness she hid under her brusque manner. Brienne, who he’d wanted for a long time, but always been too scared to do anything about it.

No more, Jaime promised himself, smiling brightly for the photographer. He was going to finally take that risk.

\---

Jaime had hired a coach to take all the wedding guests to the reception, which neatly avoided having to tell any Lannisters where the reception was until they actually arrived there.

Tywin stepped down from the coach and surveyed the prospect before him with his usual disapproving stare.

“This is not,” he observed, in a voice that would have had polar bears rushing to find woolly hats, “the Westeros Inn.”

“The Westeros Inn double booked us.” Jaime slid into his prepared reply, trying not to let his father rattle him. It was always a struggle not to revert to a hapless eight year old boy in Tywin’s presence. “I found out yesterday and had to find an alternative. Fortunately Tysha’s aunt offered to let us use her orchard.”

He could feel his father’s eyes boring into his face and forced himself not to flinch. Tywin’s gaze moved on to the long tables set out on the grass with red tablecloths and gold napkins, the fairy lights strung between the trees, the folk band - led by one of Tysha’s cousins - playing on a makeshift stage in front of the barn.

“Is this to be an... _alfresco_ wedding?”

Jaime couldn’t tell if Tywin thought that was good or bad. It was always hard to read his level of disapproval. 

“Yes,” he said finally. _Great comeback, Jaime_. He was glad Tyrion wasn’t close enough to mock him.

“Interesting,” said Tywin.

As Jaime tried to work out what that meant, Cersei joined them. Her opinion was clear enough.

“Jaime, this is utterly ridiculous. An outdoor reception? On grass? I can’t walk on grass in these shoes!” Her heels were already halfway sunk into the ground, Jaime realised with amusement.

“All provided for, dear sister. We’ve got suitable footwear for everyone.” He nodded towards one of the waiting staff, who was handing out colourful wellies.

For a moment he thought Cersei was going to explode. “Are you out of your mind, Jaime? Wellies? With this dress? I’m not going to waste one more moment of my time on this pathetic farce.”

“Excellent idea,” Jaime replied smoothly. “I’ll have someone call you a taxi.”

In fact he’d already got one waiting, in the hope she might storm off. Jaime bundled her in before she had time to change her mind and waved her off with a feeling of victory. He knew Cersei would pay him back for this in some way, but it was worth it not to have to worry what she might do to ruin the evening for Tyrion and Tysha. She was dangerously unpredictable with a few drinks in her.

Jaime had wondered if his father might storm off as well, but Tywin was not overset so easily. He had accepted a glass of champagne and was deep in conversation with Kevan and Genna.

\---

Having successfully removed Cersei with the Welly Gambit, Jaime allowed himself to relax a little during the sit-down meal. It actually passed surprisingly smoothly - thanks in part to an idea Jaime had taken from Tysha’s binder. Each guest had a long balloon in front of them, which when blown up and released, whizzed around in the air making a wailing sound. Tywin’s face when the first one went off was a memory that he and Tyrion agreed they would cherish forever.

Jaime kept an eagle eye on all the tables, and whenever conversations appeared to be getting heated, or he saw icy glares being exchanged, he gave the signal to the nearest member of his Wedding Squad (Addam, Daven, Joy and a few assorted cousins) who immediately released a balloon as distraction. He didn’t have to do that too often, though. Maybe it was the wine, or more likely Brienne’s food, thought Jaime loyally. He defied anyone to be miserable or grumpy after eating one bite. She had outdone herself tonight; he thought it was the best meal he had ever tasted.

“Food fit for the Seven themselves,” he told her, in one of the brief trips he made to the kitchen between courses. He wasn’t sure Brienne heard him. She briefly looked up from the sauce she was briskly stirring, a frown creasing her brow, and waved him away, muttering, “I don't have time for your nonsense, Jaime. I’m busy.”

That frown really was adorable. Jaime had often thought that before, but now he allowed himself to linger on it. Now he had admitted he wanted Brienne. Now he was going to do something about it.

After the speeches.

\---

Jaime breezed through his own speech. By now he had been to so many weddings he knew exactly what the best man needed to do. Compliment the bride - check. Thank the bridesmaids - check. Tell an embarrassing but not too risque story about the groom - check, although that had been tricky, he’d had to go back to their childhood for that one. Read any messages from people who hadn’t been able to attend - check, although Tyrion had some weird friends. Censoring out all the swear words (for the sake of Tysha’s elderly relatives) made the message from Bronn all but incomprehensible, while Jaime still wasn’t sure if the message from Varys was genuine well wishes or a delicately worded threat even after reading it four times.

Having made his toast, Jaime sat down and braced himself. It was not traditional for the father of the groom to make a speech, but Tywin had insisted on it. However, it was not as bad as Jaime had feared. Tywin managed to get through the entire speech without directing any open insults towards the happy couple - although there were plenty of veiled digs that the Lannisters certainly understood. He saved the most cutting remarks for Jaime - “it is not the normal way of things for the youngest child to be married first. Perhaps some day my older son will take the lead role in a wedding instead of acting as a glorified flunkey”; Cersei in absentia - “I cannot believe any Lannister would let something as frivolous as footwear get in the way of their duty to their family”; cousin Cleos - “I will be happy to give you a bonus on the day you have an original thought”; and cousin Lancel - “I do not believe that raising your hands in the air and crying that the Seven are moving through you provides the gods with the respect that is their due”. He finally sat down to a mixture of appalled faces (Tysha’s family) and cautious relief (the Lannisters). 

Tywin was followed by Tysha’s father, and it was the Lannisters’ turn to be appalled as he gave an emotional speech about his beautiful daughter and her inspiring accomplishments, and how happy he was that she had found an equally amazing son-in-law to welcome into the family. Jaime wasn’t sure which amused him more; his father’s rictus smile as he was congratulated on having raised such a wonderful son, or Tyrion’s glazed eyes as he accepted his new father-in-law’s compliments. Jaime wondered how hard he was biting his tongue - or how hard Tysha was gripping his hand under the table - to restrain himself from making any sarcastic replies. Still, the speech was a great success with Tysha’s family, most of whom were in tears by the end of it.

Jaime was kept busy once the meal was over and the dancing began. This was always the most dangerous part of any wedding, when the guests had drunk enough booze for polite restraint to be lifted, and spent long enough in their relatives’ company for old grudges to leak out. Although Jaime had enough inside information on the Lannisters to know where the likely flashpoints were, this was outweighed by there being so many of them. Even with the assistance of the Wedding Squad, he was kept so busy acting as peacekeeper that he didn’t have any time to drop by the kitchen and chat to Brienne as he normally did.

He was busy keeping an eye on Aunt Genna when Tysha approached him.

“Jaime. Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course. Are you and Tyrion leaving already?” He hadn’t thought it was that late, and a glance at his watch showed it was not yet midnight, which counted as early evening for Tyrion.

“No, but Brienne is,” said Tysha. “I thought that you might want to catch her before she left. Maybe ask her to dance.”

Jaime was caught off guard. He looked into Tysha’s knowing eyes, and for once in his life was lost for words.

“I saw the way you looked at her, the evening we spent in her kitchen,” said Tysha, patting his arm fondly. “I liked her immensely. I was wondering if you might bring her as your date this evening.”

“I didn’t...I haven’t...I wasn’t sure she would-” Jaime listened to himself stumbling over his own words in horror, and Tysha grinned broadly.

“I think she would. What’s not to like about you? You’re not bad-looking, and your jokes are funny fifty percent of the time.”

Tyrion was definitely a bad influence on her. “I also come with a lot of baggage,” said Jaime, waving a hand to encompass the many Lannisters surrounding them, but thinking of his father and Cersei, and the ways in which they had fucked him up. “They can be a lot to deal with.”

“For the right person, they can be tolerated,” said Tysha. “And Lannisters aren’t all bad. I always wanted a brother, and now I have an excellent one.” It startled him, and she took advantage of his stillness to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for organising my wedding, Jaime. It’s all I ever imagined it would be.”

Jaime smiled so widely he thought his face might split, although inside he felt oddly like crying. “I can’t ask for a greater compliment than that. It was my pleasure. Anything for my new sister. I would say my new favourite sister, but I’m not sure that’s much of an accolade.”

Tysha chuckled. “Not really. Well done with the wellies, by the way. That was inspired. But I think you should go and find Brienne before you miss your chance.”

Jaime took a deep breath. “Very well.” He gave Tysha one last smile and headed in the direction of the kitchen.

He had only gone a few steps before he was accosted by his father. 

“I am returning to my hotel,” Tywin announced, “now the formal proceedings are over. I fear the evening can only deteriorate from here.” He cast a look of indiscriminate condemnation over everyone surrounding them.

“Goodnight, Father,” Jaime managed, over a rush of relief.

“Goodnight, Jaime. This wedding was...adequately organised.”

With that he was gone, leaving Jaime staring after him. Had his father actually given him a compliment? Jaime would have thought it a drunken hallucination, but he always stayed stone cold sober when he was working. As he walked towards the kitchen he felt almost as if he was floating.

Jaime peered through the glass of the kitchen door, glimpsing Brienne’s fair head. All at once, reality came rushing back with a vengeance, and he nearly turned and retreated back into the safety of the reception.

It was only...he’d never had to ask anyone out before. Either Cersei had set him up with someone, or he’d gone to a bar and waited for a woman to chat him up, which never took long. He’d never had to do the running...which he now realised also meant he had never dated anyone he had actually chosen for himself. Hardly surprising none of them had worked out.

Now he _had_ chosen someone, and the thought of asking her if she would choose him back, of taking that risk, froze him to the spot.

He stood still for a moment that seemed endless, before he lifted his chin.

No. He would not be a coward. He was a Lannister. 

He was a man who could organise a wedding adequately.

He could do this.

\---

Jaime pushed open the kitchen door, and what he saw drained all his nerves away, because Brienne was dancing. Swaying as she packed her utensils carefully in a box, then spinning with a twirl to gather more from the counter behind her, moving with an athlete’s grace.

When she spun back she saw him, and juddered to a stop. She put the utensils down with a clatter, her face going bright red. Jaime had never seen anyone blush as thoroughly as Brienne; it had fascinated him from the first time he saw it. He watched it now with an unexpected tenderness; he felt like someone who has been on a long, cold journey finally pushing open the door to firelight and home.

“Great sense of rhythm,” he said, hiding behind a smile as he always did. “Care to show it off on the dance floor?” He walked around the counter, stopped in front of her and held out his hand.

Brienne stared at him for a long moment, while he tried in vain to work out what was going on beneath her carefully calm expression.

“I can’t go out there like this,” she said, almost whispering it. “I’m in my work clothes. I’ve got gravy down my front, and my hair’s all sweaty.”

All of these things were undoubtedly true, although Jaime hadn’t even noticed until she pointed them out, and he didn’t care now she had. But he could see that _she_ cared.

“Let’s dance in here then,” he said, “just the two of us,” and opened his palm invitingly.

The next few seconds were some of the longest in his life. He was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, in case he screwed it all up and scared her away.

Brienne put her hand in his.

Jaime looked up into blue eyes that were shy and nervous and fierce all at once, and every thought skittered out of his head. He had meant to pull her into a silly dance, to goof around and make her laugh, but instead he found himself wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. She tensed, and for a horrible moment he thought she would push him away, but then her hands came up to rest on his shoulders. Her touch was tentative at first, as if she expected him to protest.

It felt so right to be holding her like this, so easy and natural. Jaime smiled, joy spilling out of him, and when Brienne smiled back, with a radiance he had never seen before, all his resolutions about treading cautiously and being careful evaporated like morning mist before the rising sun.

He kissed her.

Brienne made a startled sound. For a moment she was rigid in his arms, and Jaime thought he’d made a terrible mistake, but then her mouth opened softly against his. One hand tightened on his shoulder, and the other tangled in his hair. Jaime pulled her closer against him, tilting his head to get a better angle, and marvelled at what a fool he had been not to have done this months before.

Time blurred. It could have been seconds or minutes or even hours before the door behind them opened with a bang.

“Chef, are you ready to go-”

Brienne gasped and pulled back from Jaime. “Podrick! I forgot you were waiting. I’m so sorry-”

Jaime turned round. Podrick looked even more embarrassed than Brienne, if that was possible. He shrank back against the doorway, looking as if he wished the floor would swallow him up. 

“Chef will be with you in a few minutes, Podrick,” said Jaime, trying not to sound too threatening. It wasn’t the lad’s fault. He wasn’t sure he was very successful; Podrick’s eyes flickered anxiously to Brienne.

“Five minutes, Pod,” she said. “Wait for me in the van.”

“Brienne,” said Jaime, as soon as Pod had shut the door, “what are you doing tomorrow?”

\---

_He won’t come_ , thought Brienne, as the clock hands crept towards twelve. _Last night was a dream. Heat and overwork and I start imagining impossible things._

Like Jaime kissing her and asking her on a date.

Impossible things. She had probably imagined it, and even if she hadn’t, there was no way it could outlast the cold light of day. He had probably been drunk...although she knew Jaime never drank when he was working. Maybe it had been euphoria that his brother’s wedding was over, a reaction to all the stress and hard work.

Either way, Jaime had definitely not meant it. There was no way he would be here to pick her up at twelve. He would send a text, or call to say something had come up and he couldn’t make it. 

Still, Brienne found herself blow drying her hair. Picking out her favourite blue top and her lucky silver star necklace. Burning her breakfast toast as she drifted off remembering the way Jaime’s mouth had slid against hers, the silky feel of his hair, and the way he’d looked at her afterwards. For once she hadn’t felt large or awkward at all.

_He won’t come_ , she thought, in a last feeble effort at self-protection.

But her phone didn’t ring. No text arrived, and there was a knock at her door almost as soon as her clock finished striking twelve.

Brienne opened it with her heart pounding. 

The first thing she noticed was that Jaime wasn’t wearing one of his work suits. He was wearing jeans and a rock band t-shirt, and looked just as good in them as she’d always imagined he would.

She gathered the courage to look at his face, and that was different too. No sharp smile, no professional charm. His face was open, almost serious...and nervous, she suddenly realised, maybe as nervous as she was. He was showing her the real Jaime, the private Jaime, and he wasn’t sure if she’d like him.

How ridiculous. Suddenly she felt so light, as if she could soar into the air. On the surge of that happiness, she leaned forward, with a sharp spike of courage.

This time she kissed him.

  
  
  



End file.
